


Just Let the Song Play (This Was All Inspired By a Little Marvin Gaye and Chardonnay)

by zeldadestry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:28:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let’s go out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Let the Song Play (This Was All Inspired By a Little Marvin Gaye and Chardonnay)

**Author's Note:**

> This was all inspired by a little Big Sean and Kanye!  
> (title taken directly from the song)

So, Sam’s on some stupid sobriety kick and keeps coming up with different rules for their drinking.

The latest one is that they shouldn’t drink alone and, ok, whatever, Dean agrees just to shut him up. Of course, as far as Dean can tell, this doesn’t mean that he’s drinking any less, only that Sam is now drinking more. But he has stopped complaining when Dean drinks and, hey, that counts as a win, right?

 

“Have you noticed we’re not really happy drunks?”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“No, seriously, Dean. I knew this guy, he was the TA for a philosophy course I took at Stanford, and he had to take a leave of absence to go to rehab and when he got back he told me that he knew he was in trouble when he realized drinking was only fun, like, twenty percent of the time.”

“Twenty percent? Shit. I’d settle for ten.”

 

Sam remembers the next day which is so unfair because Dean would be able to forget a lot more if Sam would stop reminding him.

“Is drinking -ever- fun for you anymore?”

Dean eats two links of sausage, pours more syrup on his pancakes, and asks for a refill on his coffee.

“I know you heard me. Answer the fucking question.”

Dean reaches for the hot sauce and splatters it all over his hash browns.

Sam kicks Dean’s foot underneath the table. “Don’t ignore me.”

Dean kicks back twice as hard.

 

“Let’s go out.”

“I already took my boots off.”

Sam looms over Dean, pats him on the cheek like he’s trying to encourage a whiny kid. “So put em back on.”

Dean grumbles, but obeys.

 

The bar down the street from their motel is loud and hot and the girl talking to Dean has lips like Jess and the one dragging Sam out onto the dance floor has hair like Cassie. The songs playing aren’t really ones Dean ever chooses to listen to but, when Sorta Jess puts her hands on his hips and sways to the beat, he holds her close.

There’s a big cheer from the crowd when one particular song starts, so the DJ repeats it twice more. Dean sings the hook to himself after they leave, as they stand underneath the nearest streetlight and Sam wipes away the smears of lipstick Sorta Jess left across Dean’s face with the side of his hand. When Dean’s voice trails off, Sam’s picks up.

 

Back in their room, Sam goes to take a shower but Dean just strips to his boxers and falls backwards onto his bed. There’s no sound now but a low ringing in his ears and the rush of the water, and that means he can hear again, replay all the condemnations he’s ever earned.

“Hey,” Sam says, a few minutes later, when he stumbles out of the bathroom and towards Dean. “Hey, don’t.” He lies down beside Dean, shakes his shoulder. “Dude, come on. Happy drunks, remember?”

“Liar. You’re not happy. Tell me one thing you’re happy about.”

“I got to watch you dance tonight.”

Dean rests his possessive, protective fingertips across Sam’s smiling mouth. Out in the parking lot someone’s car starts up with a roar, massive speakers blasting. The thrum of the bass surrounds them, a shared heartbeat forcing life back through their veins. “I just figured something out.”

“Yeah? What?”

Dean nuzzles at Sam’s throat, seeking out his pulse. “I really like hip hop.”


End file.
